This is a prologue to the story I wrote. I am very new to the world of erotic writing. So I would request the critics to be a little soft. This prologue and the first chapter I have written from the perspective of the captor. I hope you have a good read

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:

This story revolves around the themes of non-consensual bondage, Abduction, torture and other criminal activities. If this is something that disturbs you, I would recommend you to not read this story further, And if it does and you know how to draw a parallel between the fiction and the real world I welcome you to my world of fiction.
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I sprawl on the couch, my thick, hairy legs casually draped over the table, one over the other. The room is a mess, but it's my mess, and I like it that way. I'm wearing shorts and a grey t-shirt with ‘No place for mercy’ written boldly across it—a memento from my days in the military. I'm engrossed in watching ‘Cleveland Abduction’ on the big 55-inch TV, my eyes glued to the screen with great interest. The movie is grim, but it's a good reminder of how the world can be a dark place.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings, disrupting my focus. I pick myself up from the couch, my body protesting slightly at the movement. I grab the gun on the table where I had been resting my legs and head to the door. You can never be too careful these days. As soon as I open the door, I hide the gun behind my back, just in case. It's only the delivery guy with my pizza. The smell of hot, cheesy goodness wafts up to my nose, making my stomach rumble. I take the pizza and tip the guy generously with 15 dollars. His eyes widen slightly at the amount, and he smiles, thanking me before leaving happily. I close the door and turn back, realizing I forgot to order a drink with the pizza. I sigh, place the pizza on the table, pause the TV, and move to the kitchen.

The TV sound was so loud it was impossible to hear anything else, but as soon as I pause it, faint whimpers fill the room. I ignore them; they're not important right now. My throat is dry, and I need something to wash down the pizza. I open the fridge, and the cool air hits my face. I smile when I see a half-empty bottle of Coke. That'll do just fine. I'm wearing black surgical gloves, a habit I've picked up to make sure I don't leave any prints. I take the bottle and start looking for a glass, but I can't find one after searching through multiple shelves.

“Where are the glasses kept, dear?” I ask, my voice echoing slightly in the kitchen. The only response I get is a cry.

I take a deep breath and turn around. To my sight, a naked girl is hogtied tightly in hemp rope, with a black ball gag in her mouth. She's a mess—sweating, drooling, and covered in her own filth. An ass hook is embedded in her, connected to her hair and pulling it backwards. She looks tired, lost, and frustrated from her futile struggles. I've seen this look before, many times, but only in the porn films. It's the look of someone who knows they're helpless but still hopes for mercy. I've got none to give, as my T-shirt says as well.

I get in front of her and look into her tired eyes. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Where are the glasses?” She cries again, her eyes pleading. I'm not in the mood for games. I push her head downwards, making the ass hook go deeper. She screams in pain, the sound muffled by the gag. “Now I am going to open your gag. Anything stupid you do, I will chop you into pieces and store you in your own fridge,” I warn her, my voice cold. She gulps in fear, her eyes wide. I open her gag, and she drools heavily, closing her eyes as if she can't bear to look at me.

“Where are the glasses?” I ask again, my patience waning.

She doesn't reply, just cries. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the sweat and drool. I cover her nose and mouth with my hand, restricting all respiration. In seconds, she's begging for air, her eyes wild with panic. I remove my hand and ask again, politely this time, “Where are the glasses?”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her chest heaving. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asks, her voice hoarse from screaming.

I sigh. They always ask that, like they don't know the answer. Like they didn't do something to deserve this. I choke her throat this time, my large hand wrapping around her slender neck easily. Her face turns red in seconds, her eyes bulging. “I am asking again. Where are the glasses?” I say, my voice calm and steady.

Struggling and gasping for air, she finally tells me where the glasses are. I release her throat, and she coughs, her body convulsing as she tries to catch her breath. I take the glasses, fill one with Coke, and leave the kitchen without a word, re-gagging her as I go. I can still hear her muffled cries as I walk away, but I don't care. I resume my place on the couch, picking up where I left off with ‘Cleveland Abduction.’
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I'm an occasional erotic writer, and this is my first story posted here. I'm both excited and nervous to share my work with this community. If you spot any errors or have constructive criticism to offer, I'm always open to feedback. Your insights can help me improve my writing. Additionally, if you enjoy the story, please leave a comment—your support and encouragement mean a lot to me!

Additionaly I am looking for someone who is good at sketches. And can turn my words in to sketches that will help me evolve my way of storytelling. So if you wanna help please drop me a text in the chats.